"Where to, Ms. Morrison?" he asked, his one functioning windshield wiper squeaking annoyingly."MacArthur Park," I said. "And step on it...it's almost ...usk." Still not payin that kid, huh?" he asked, as he put his cab in gear and we took off at the speed of arthritic tortoises."Shut up," I advised him."So what do you think about this Y2K thing, Ms. Morrison?" he asked after a couple of miles."Couldn't happen to a nicer civilization," I replied gruffly. And the rest of the drive passed in. ”“Are you ready to work toward earning more of it?”“Yes, Cock-Master, Sir.”“Good, now get your ass over to your computer. We have an e-mail to send. Your Master needs to find out what a bad little boy slave you’ve been.”i walked over to the computer, an awkward journey because of the mask and the stinging of His piss in my eyes. i stood at the chair, awaiting His permission to sit. He had wandered away, to an old trunk in which i also kept some sex toys. He had found almost all of my stashes.. More

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